Me With Nothing To Say
by Ninnik Nishukan
Summary: Short piece set during Listening To Fear, season five. Buffy asks questions about Spike stealing pictures of her from her house.


**Me With Nothing To Say**

By Ninnik Nishukan

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Due to her fatigue, Buffy found herself holding on to Spike's hand for longer than was strictly necessary; although it was only a second or two after he'd finished helping her up, it was still too long. Scowling at him, she snatched her hand back.

"Well, _that_ was odd!" He blurted in a falsely cheerful tone, a weak grin struggling to break out on his lips but only managing to conquer one corner of his mouth before dying. Suddenly it seemed he didn't know where to put himself, and he was trying to resort to his usual swagger, but—

She was sure she'd felt a tremor pass through his hand just before she let go, and she didn't like it, didn't know why. In the face of his nervousness she remembered that he'd been sneaking around her house uninvited, which led to a momentarily forgotten thought resurfacing.

Spike jumped a little, protesting loudly as she unexpectedly shoved her hand down the roomy pocket of his leather coat. He grabbed at her wrist, pinning her, but it was already too late; she now had the mysterious contents of his pocket clasped firmly in her hand and she wasn't about to let go.

They were indeed pictures of her, and after the initial sense of shock she felt after she got her suspicions confirmed, she felt a small spark of outraged anger starting to smoulder in her heart. What did he think he was—?

She would have given him the lecture and perhaps even the beating of his unlife. She would have called him all the names she could think of and kicked him up and down the sidewalk outside of her house if it weren't for three things.

First, she was very, very exhausted.

Second, she had to wonder why she'd even let him help her up in the first place, why she'd treated him like a mere nuisance when he invaded her house and not like a threat to her and her family— chip or no chip, he should still be considered a threat, right? But he'd stopped trying to kill her, or rather; he'd stopped _threatening_ to kill her. She had to wonder why, not long ago, he'd refrained from killing her when he had a very good chance at doing so simply because she was crying and why he had then proceeded to sit with her and listen to her problems with her mother...

But mostly, what caused her to hold her tongue and still her fists was when she looked up into his eyes and didn't find him smirking defiantly like an unrepentant villain caught in the act, but was caught by a rather startled, apprehensive, almost sad, blue stare.

Normally, she would've punched his nose and kicked him out, cursing all the way, but right then Buffy discovered that it was particularly hard to hit a face that wore the exact same expression that she'd seen on Dawn's face lately and on her own face in the mirror every morning right after she'd woken up and the reality of her mother's illness had sunk back in.

Spike looked just like he thought he was about to lose someone, like he thought he'd never see them again.

And if Buffy was any judge, that someone seemed to be herself. Which was very hard and very uncomfortable to even think about, let alone believe, but there it was.

"What is this?" She asked quietly, noticing with dismay how hoarse she sounded.

Spike looked down at the pictures and back up at her, and still no words were forthcoming. That was what made this extra horrible, Buffy thought; Spike always had something to say. Now he just looked afraid, the kind of afraid that had nothing to do with the terrors in the dark or dying or horrible apocalypses, but the very ordinary, yet in a way much more hurtful fear of rejection.

Which was what she knew she had to do; reject him. She couldn't refrain from doing it just because she felt strangely sorry for him.

"What are you doing with these pictures?" She went on relentlessly, not wanting to hear the answer but not knowing what else to say.

Spike noticed he was still gripping her wrist and let her go immediately. "Buffy…"

"Is this why you were lurking outside my house that night?" She almost didn't even dare to breathe as she thought of this new, complicated emotional factor to have to deal with in her life; where was the _good_ news lately? Where was _anything_ that could make her life seem slightly brighter, slightly less hard to bear? This was just another difficult mess she'd have to sort out for herself.

"Buffy, I wasn't…" He tried again, but what was there to say? She'd already figured him out. And he wasn't even calling her Slayer anymore…

Buffy winced; he just sounded so crestfallen that it was too painful to listen to, despite him being the former Scourge of Europe and all.

He knew that _she_ knew and that she wasn't very happy about it and might have to evict him from her life completely, but at the same time he seemed unable to brace himself against what he had to know was coming, made utterly vulnerable by her unexpected discovery, which is why she decided to spare him. They'd already kicked each other enough times when down, she felt.

"You know I can't deal with this." She said dully, feeling positively drained of energy. It wasn't a question.

He was left fumbling yet again. "I know…that you can't…"

"Don't do this." She warned warily. It was still rejection, but she figured it was a thousand times better than yelling that he was an evil, soulless thing or something along those lines, which she might've done had she not thought about it first. "I don't know what in the world you're thinking, but please just go away and think again, because this is just…this is too much. I don't understand it." She bit her lip, frowning hard as she closed her eyes as if to ward herself against an oncoming headache. She didn't want all this. She didn't need all this. "These days I don't understand anything."

Spike stared at her with bright, confused eyes. She'd never told him "please" before. Clearing his throat, he looked down at the small, dark corpse on the floor. "What's this thing?"

Buffy let out a deep puff of air and shrugged. "Queller demon." She said somewhat shakily; she'd almost started to recover after the whole ordeal, distracted by the newest confusing turn of events, but now she felt upset again. "It, uh…quells people. People who aren't really…" Her voice went thick. "…in their right mind at the moment."

Spike nodded slowly; he could smell her mother's sickness, hear her faint babbling upstairs. "How's your mum?" He asked tentatively.

"Better, now that this thing's dead!" She said in a tight voice, giving the dead creature a little kick for good measure.

"D'you want me to get rid of the body for you?" He asked her suddenly, sounding so serious and earnest that she was a little taken aback. Would he actually spend the rest of his night dragging away some gross demon carcass just to spare her the trouble? How far did this thing go? When did it start? What exactly _was_ this, anyway? Why was he acting like— and what was he thinking? Was this even _real_? And if it wasn't, what was his agenda?

The only thing was that while Spike could be a good liar when he needed to be, he wasn't _this_ good. And he had enough pride not to fake something like this, something that would put him in the humiliating position of pretending to have feelings for the Slayer. If he wanted something, he could've made up a far better plan than to pretend to be in lo— she couldn't even think it— with her; that wouldn't get him anywhere, except maybe one step closer to a dusty ending.

"Spike—"She began, but he never found out what she wanted to tell him, because at that moment what seemed like half the Initiative burst in through her front door.

"I think maybe _they'll_ take care of it," she said pointedly after a pause, as they stared at the darkly-clad guys moving about purposefully.

Spike nodded as he stared as well. Glancing back at him, Buffy added: "And unless you loved your stay at the Hotel Initiative, I suggest you get out of here before they recognize you. I don't think anybody but Riley would let you roam free."

As Riley came jogging up, Spike cast a wary, but surprised smile at Buffy and swirled around, heading for the back door in the kitchen. "See you around, Buffy."

Buffy was just as surprised as Spike over the fact that she'd just saved him from having his brain prodded again. Lately, she thought, somehow something had just changed the way she saw Spike; not much, but it wasn't nothing. He was just _there_, like one of the few constant elements in her life, and she figured she'd simply gotten too used to him to see him as a real threat. It was a little disconcerting.

At least she might not have to worry about him trying to kill her again, but then you never knew with Spike.

**END.**

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**Author's note:** This isn't meant to be romantic, and it's not 'Spuffy'. Buffy isn't secretly happy over her discovery, it just complicates her life even further. I just wanted to explore what might've happened if the Initiative had arrived just the teensiest bit later, Buffy had called him on taking the pictures, and the conversation they might have with her in the state of mind she was in that day. A rejection was the only thing that seemed right, but a different rejection than in 'Crush'.

Not exactly nice, just different.

If you want Spuffiness, go read my other fics instead.

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